“Potential?” Melody echoed, frowning. “What do you mean?”
Sophie did not deign to answer. Instead, she turned to Kat.
“Now, she cannot be left in a servant’s garb. We need a dress for her. A fine one, and we need it quickly. Any alterations must be done before tonight, so we have nae much time.”
“I’ll speak to Margaret. I’m sure she has somethin’,” Kat answered. “Me sister,” she added, glancing at Melody. “She’s one of the Keep’s dressmakers. I daenae care much for gowns and all my clothes end up torn or dirty, so she’ll be glad to dress somebody like ye.”
“Excellent! We’ll go there at once,” Sophie announced. Without warning, she set off at a cracking speed, her cane clack-clacking on the stone as she left the two women behind.
“Her… Her knee…” Melody whispered, dazed.
Kat gave a snort. To Melody’s surprise, the healer looped an arm through hers, for all the world as if they were a pair of proper English ladies going for a promenade.
“Ye have nae ken Lady Sophie long,” she murmured. “But surely this cannae surprise ye?”
“Nay, I’m nae sure it does,” Melody confessed, biting back a smile.
“Hurry, lassies!” Sophie called back, having reached the end of the Hall. “There’s nay time to waste. Me grandson must bestunned!”
“Must he?” Melody mumbled, and Kat snorted.
Apparently, Sophie’s hearing was also better than she had let on.
“Aye,” she shot back testily. “Hemust.”
8
Callum had to admit that his grandmother had done a fine job of decorating the Great Hall, considering how little time she’d had to complete the task.
Fresh rushes, thick with sweet-smelling herbs, coated the floor. Some of the tapestries had been moved around, and the space glowed with countless candles. There was food, of course, and plenty of it, piled high on the creaking feasting table.
Nobody had begun eating yet. First, they would mingle as the guests slowly arrived. Melody would be introduced once just about everybody was here. They could drink in the meantime. Then there would be more talk—these events were all talk, all endless, pointless jabber—and a little light dancing. This was no ceilidh, but a restrained celebration. The wedding celebration would be wilder.
Callum caught himself in time, angrily reminding himself that there would be no wedding celebration. This betrothal wassimply designed to buy him time. Perhaps if he could act as though his heart was broken, his councilors would be more sympathetic about future matches.
Probably not, though.
After the dancing and talking, they could at last sit down to eat. At least when he was eating, he wouldn’t have to worry about fending off countless attempts at conversation. All in all, Callum was not looking forward to the feast. Angus was right, however. The feast had to happen. It was a political move, that was all.
Lucas appeared at his side, grinning.
“Ye look down in the dumps,” he commented. “A freshly betrothed man should nae have as dark an expression as yers. Smile, for heaven’s sake. They’ll think ye are bein’ forced into this.”
“Well, I am,” Callum shot back. “The council harasses me endlessly about choosin’ a bride. Now I’ve chosen one to shut them up. Daenae expect me to smile about it.”
Lucas sighed. “Fine. Do as ye like, then. Is Lady Melody here?”
“Nae yet. Do we have any unexpected guests?”
Lucas hesitated, just for a moment. “I’d nae sayunexpected, but…”
“Who?”
There was a beat of silence.
“Thomas Johnson,” Lucas murmured.
Callum tightened his jaw. He had half expected the man to arrive, but knowing that he was here was jarring, somehow.
